


Out of Bounds

by amireal



Series: Messy [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Canon Typical Violence, Grief, Love, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), atypical marriage, soulbonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1946766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amireal/pseuds/amireal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For one thing, he’s waiting for Natasha to tell him what medical facility Phil is being treated at. When he’d first come back to himself, dizzy and confused, Phil’s delicate presence had been all but gone. After a few deep breaths, something had filtered back in and Clint was able to relax and get on with the waking up. </p><p>Or</p><p>It's not that Fury lies, so much as Phil probably shouldn't have survived in the first place. Clint was never meant to be his backup plan. Still, Fury does lie a little, but Phil and Clint have been doing that for years, so they can't really point fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Bounds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kisleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/gifts).



> This is essentially a timestamp for this universe. So yeah, not all questions are answered and it sets up both:
> 
> 1\. What happened in the two years since Messy?  
> and  
> 2\. What happens next?
> 
> This lives in the MCU but is AOS compliant insofar as it incorporates some hows from it.
> 
> Happy birthday Kees. This totally took a left turn, I'm sorry! I hope it still fits your wishes!

Clint spends most of the time they’re eating shawarma, amazing fries with a hint of paprika and fresh bread, which okay the family that owns this place gets props for making all their food despite the carnage, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was out of it for more than a day, probably two or three, he’s afraid to both check the calender date and his own hazy memories to confirm it, but Clint knows he’s got a more than a massive pile of email to catch up on.

For one thing, he’s waiting for Natasha to tell him what medical facility Phil is being treated at. When he’d first come back to himself, dizzy and confused, Phil’s delicate presence had been all but gone. After a few deep breaths, something had filtered back in and Clint was able to relax and get on with the waking up. 

Now, though, he wants to know. Not everything, he’s not sure he could handle everything. He can barely handle sitting at this table with all of this amazing food and fucking Captain America of all people, who just told a really funny dirty joke and Clint is just too tired and too worried to do more than chuckle. The last time Phil’s lattice work of a presence felt like this, bad things had happened. Very bad things.

Also his leg fucking hurts. That last swing was a little hard on him. Clint suspects he wasn’t allowed to rest much while Stupid Leather Daddy Horned Asshole had him. He’s been fighting yawns since his stomach finally stopped cramping in hunger. Now all he wants is Phil. If he’s not too bad Clint is just going to climb right into the bed with him and pass right the fuck out. Rules fucking be-damned.

They’d started crawling inside each other’s personal space long before any of the other stuff about that terrible six hours fucking their way out of imprisonment had started to be settled. The decision to keep it to themselves was mostly made by fear. Terrible fear and utter certainty that someone, or someones, would want them to be locked up and poked at in an effort to recreate their situation. Who knows how many countless other people would be dosed with the stuff in an effort to recreate Phil and Clint’s side effects.

Stark has just started to invite everyone back to his place to decompress fully, or move in, whatever strikes their fancy when Clint gives up and resolves to go in and find out himself. He’s not looking forward to some of the looks he might get. SHIELD agents will understand, but they’re only human and Clint really wants to give them more than a few hours to recover.

“Maybe later,” Clint says gingerly moving his leg so he can stand. Fuck that’s gonna hurt, but they can treat it after he finds Phil. “I’ve got to check in with SHIELD, it sounds silly, but getting the paperwork out of the way for something like this lets you avoid your handler accidentally,” he makes exaggerated quote marks, “putting you into the fitness test rotation three months too early.”

The atmosphere tanks at that real quick, but Clint is too tired to dissect why. 

Steve is suddenly standing next to him, addressing both Clint and Nat. “I wanted to say,” he says quietly, looking almost nervous, “can someone tell me what the arrangements are when they’re made for Agent Coulson?”

Clint stiffens. “What?” He’s aware of his voice screeching, but he’s already gone, reaching out into his head with all of the energy he can muster. “No,” he whispers, “no, no, no.”

“Clint,” Natasha says softly into his ear, there are arms around him, too many to just be her. He’s sitting again, unsure of how that happened. “Clint, I’m sorry.”

That can’t be right, Nat never apologizes. It’s all secondary though, because Clint is still holding onto that one thread. They both theorized that if one of them died, the other would know, would have to know, but one slightly drunken evening, Phil had confessed that he worried they wouldn’t. That whatever had changed them would leave an imprint or an echo and he’d be stuck forever, with a shadow of who Clint was. Haunting him.

For a second Clint thinks that’s what happened. Then Phil tugs back. It’s barely there, so full of tired and pain that Clint almost mistakes it for his own or even just wishful thinking, but it happens again, and again. Clint’s heart nearly stops. S.O.S. It means Phil knows something is wrong, but nothing else. The cycle repeats before Clint gets his bearings, but it’s weaker and Clint carefully takes the tether and tugs five times in total. Three short, one long, one short. Understood. Phil’s side slides back away into nothing more than floating pain and Clint relaxes.

“Nat,” Clint whispers hoarsely, he may be better off than Phil, but he’s nowhere near okay, “who told you?”

Natasha is quiet for a few telling seconds and then lets out a list of Russian curses that would make a marine blush. Nearby there’s several choking noises. Clint assumes one is from Steve. If he laid money on it, Bruce is probably the other. 

“That’s what I thought,” he nods and then stands back up again. He finds that it’s Steve on the other side of him, looking a bit red, but mostly curious. Clint bites his lip, none of these people have any reason to believe him, but maybe if Natasha does, they’ll follow. Clint has a bad feeling about—

Phil is torn from him and he goes to his knees, neither Natasha or Steve are ready for it, Clint isn’t ready for it. Jesus fuck that hurt. “Phil,” he can’t help but say, “fuck, fuck, what the hell?” There’s a spark and a glorious long few seconds of connection before he’s ripped from Clint again. His body convulses out of his control. “Fuck,” Clint bites down and forces himself to simply experience it rather than fight it. He clings to Phil’s tiny spark, clings so hard he’s sweating and shaking by the time its all over and for the moment Clint and Phil are stable.

Clint blinks and finds the faces of Bruce Banner and Tony Stark staring at him. Well, more like dissecting him with their eyes. It’s unnerving. Behind him, Natasha pokes at Clint’s shoulder until he tilts his heading acknowledgment and she asks, “Barcelona?”

Yeah, Clint had a feeling she knew something was going on. He nods. “Yep.”

Suddenly, there’s a large but infinitely gentle hand on his free shoulder. Clint blinks slowly, everything is kind of hazy now. He’s feeding Phil as much as he can, which isn’t alot, but goddammit if he’s going to be ripped away again. It’s Thor, looking at him with kind eyes.

“I did not know,” he says so carefully, “if I had, I would have let you finish your quest to exact revenge upon my brother.”

Tears spring up into Clint’s eyes. Belief has never felt so sweet. Thor’s massive thumb wipes away an escaping drop and suddenly there is a weight lifted off him. 

“I have it,” Thor says, “let it rest upon my shoulders for a while.” Thor is holding the ends together, lifting the heavy burden that Clint was bearing all on his own. “I have not seen such a thing in humans before,” he explains quietly, his attention seemingly having shut up everyone else’s frantic talking, “and if it were not there, I could not do anything like this, but it is and you should not hold this responsibility all by yourself.”

Clint is speechless, from grief, from relief, he feels unworthy of this gift.

Thor shakes his head, he can probably tell some of what’s going on in Clint’s mind if he’s holding together the bridge. “Consider it reparations from my family,” Thor says to Clint, “if it eases your conscious.”

Someone hands him water, Bruce, Clint finds small details filtering back into his perceptions now that Thor is taking the brunt of it all. Thor settles in next to him, seemingly at ease kneeling on the floor full of concrete rubble next to Clint. Thor’s hand is warm and steady on Clint’s bare arm. He suspects they will stay touching in some way for a while. He’s not sure why he thinks it, but he’s fairly sure that’s how its gonna go. He can’t wait to tell Phil all about holding Thor’s hand for a few days.

Clint sips the water gratefully. It’s the least of the attention he needs, but it’s a good start. 

“So,” Stark finally says, looking like he’s been holding back for hours instead of minutes, “anyone wanna start talking?”

Clint talks, slowly, haltingly, searching for the right words. He doesn’t remember the official ID of the chemical that was used on them. Just the fear he has to swallow down at even talking about this to people who aren’t Phil. In the open. Out loud even. It’s hard, because the very notion is a bit insane and as Thor said, it’s not something that’s meant to happen naturally in humans, but happen it did.

Clint and Phil fucked for six hours straight and came out of it essentially married. It took a long time for them to deal with it and Clint doesn’t really know these people at all, though that kick ass fight they won helps a bit.

“You can feel him?” Steve eventually is the one to start summing it all up. He also seems to the least perturbed after Natasha and Thor. Phil has told Clint some of the stories of Hydra and Red Skull, so he guesses that makes sense.

“Not like normal,” Clint says, “nothing like normal, but I knocked and he definitely answered.”

Something solidifies around him, Clint is still feeling weird and not all of it can be attributed his and Phil’s crazy, crazy brain stuff. He does need to see a doctor and since it looks like his original plan of making them work around his need to be curled up next to Phil isn’t an option at the moment. He needs to come up with a new plan. Only he’s just really fucking tired.

“Stark Tower,” Stark says abruptly, “no offense, but the lot of you look like shit. I have doctors, more food, and at least a couple of beds not littered with debris.” 

Without being asked, Clint is helped to stand, by Thor, who is still touching him but has moved from Clint’s bicep to cradling his hand, and then is led outside to a car that has to be Stark’s because it’s not any of the models SHIELD uses at the moment and also Stark high fives the driver. Clint blinks and is across town, blinks again and is being helped out of his gear, washed, checked, sanitized, hydrated and immunized (antibiotics are always a good idea, god knows if the water was even filtered at Golden Horned Asswipe’s place).

There’s a dream. Phil is there, he looks tired and he moves slowly and there are deep lines of pain around his eyes and mouth, but his smile is so wide when he spots Clint. When they touch, their edges mist together and blend, their hug threatens to permanently fuse them together but Clint is too busy being relieved. The blurred edges mean this is really Phil and not Clint’s wishful thinking. At least, he’s pretty sure it is. 

“What happened?” Phil asks, Clint can feel his lips moving, but the voice feels more centralized. There’s a small echo, like it’s rattling around inside their heads.

“Thor is helping.” Clint wonders if that’s why there’s so much more detail. Usually if this happens, it’s a lot more abstract.

“I meant to you,” Phil says in exasperation as he draws just far enough away to look Clint in the eye. “How’d we get you back?”

A series of images are exchanged and this is closer to what Clint has gotten used to. There’s an enveloping warmth that is Phil’s happiness and relief. They do the mental equivalent of curling up together to nap for the rest of the time and when Clint wakes up some undetermined time later he feels a thousand times better, even if his leg still really fucking hurts and he feels just a little hung over. 

Thor is next to him, the big hammer thing he carries casually leaning against the wall, Thor has fit himself into the largest, most comfortable visitor’s chair that has ever seen the inside of an infirmary and passed out cold. Their hands are still touching and Clint has to hold in a swell of absolutely utter gratefulness. He’ll wait for Phil to figure out how to thank Thor, Phil is better at those things. 

Someone must be monitoring, Clint has vague recollections of something about a computer AI. It freaks him out a bit because a rogue computer AI has been one of the classic SHIELD training exercises for decades. Stark, Banner and Steve pop in with a rolling cart of breakfast foods. Clint notices with some amusement that it’s all finger foods, someone thought ahead to his and Thor’s predicament. Next to him, Thor is blinking awake and as soon as the smell of food hits his nostrils Clint is ravenous. They suspend all talk so they can stare at him as he one-handedly inhales a pile of food the size of his head before slowing down. Eventually he must bore them a bit because by the time Clint is full, everyone else is done.

Stark has an especially gleeful look when he claps his hands together dramatically and calls up some diagrams seemingly from thin air.

Banner looks around thoughtfully, “Is there a room in this place _without_ the holographic projectors?”

Stark shrugs. “What’s the fun in that?”

Turns out there’s been no small amount of research and planning while Clint was out. He’s fine with that, right now he kind of prefers answers being handed to him. The searching might have been too much.

Stark, Natasha and Steve have all had their heads buried in the Phil problem while Thor and Bruce have spent time talking about Clint’s unexpected talent. 

“We were discussing it,” Bruce says kindly, leaning casually against a counter, “and based on some of what Thor has explained I probably could build something that would register it, probably even enough to backtrack it all the way to Agent Coulson but—”

“No!” Clint spits out as soon as he swallows his mouthful of water. “No, please. That’s not—. Just no.”

Bruce’s eyes go, if possible, even kinder. “We assumed there was a reason not even Agent Romanov knew for sure. So that’s a last resort.”

Clint nods, his entire body shaking with the idea. God, if they could track them Clint would never feel safe again. They’d never be able to run, if the worst happened and they were forced into helping recreate this in others, there’d be no solution. No living solution. No solution that left them alive.

Then discussion goes on around Clint, he has really has very little to contribute that Natasha can’t say for him. There are some things though, that he does speak up for.

“I have papers,” Clint says, distracted beyond all reason, Phil’s presence has gone bit a staticky, he searches around for the right words, “power of attorney?” He asks the room in general.

Everyone nods and Clint went back to worrying over—

—it went like fire over his whole body. A foreign energy zaps through him, but his chest is like a thousand tiny explosions all at once, all over.

There are voices, loud ones, soft ones, strange ones, all over Clint’s head. Some next to him, some from some strange far away place.

The pain intensifies to the point where Clint’s skin feels like it’s going to explode outward from holding in all that pressure. And then, just as suddenly it—

—Clint breaths again. He feels slimy with sweat, shivering slightly. Bruce is hovering over him, fingers pressing just under Clint’s jaw, eyes focused off on his watch, counting.

“I’m okay,” Clint croaks and makes a clumsy grab for his water. 

“Slow,” Bruce admonishes.

Clint nods and takes just enough to wet his parched tongue and throat. “I’m okay. I think. Hold on.” He closes his eyes, he’s still aware of other people moving around but he doesn’t care about them. Phil is there. So there. More there than ever Clint thinks and it’s kind of amazing because those hours of ghost Phil could only be described as torture. “Thor?” Clint asks quietly, Thor is still there, still touching him.

“I feel it too,” Thor confirms before releasing his hand. “Something has changed.”

Oh boy has it.

After those hours of draught, Clint is practically drowning in Phil. It’s fucking fantastic and if he was alone it might get even more fantastic.

Thor does the explaining this time, he had a birds eye view instead of being stuck experiencing it, but all it does is confirm Clint’s gut instinct. Phil got better. Probably not through regular means. No one goes from painful wisps of smoke to that solid presence lodged inside Clint’s head without outside help. Before it had always been slightly delicate, like a latticework of crystal, tough enough but to look at it always made Clint feel like if he breathed wrong it would shatter into a thousand tiny, beautiful pieces.

Now it’s more like an oak tree, steady, strong, alive. But gorgeous in its own way.

When it finally comes, the tugging this time is easy to feel. Shorts and longs, their earliest parlor trick that had morphed into something more.

.- -. P

.- - - J

-.-. C

Clint smiles. Phil continues.

THAT REALLY SUCKED. STOP.  
BETTER NOW. STOP.  
MOVING TO TRISKELLION. STOP.  
COME AND GET ME. STOP.

There’s a gap and Clint is about to sent the acknowledgment when there’s another quick procession of tugs.

7388\. STOP.

Clint laughs out loud. Only Phil Coulson would think to use the shorthand for “Best regards, love and kisses” in the middle of all this shit.

Clint sends off a quick BCNU (Be seeing you.) Before bringing himself back out of Phil’s presence enough to deal with the rest of the world.

“Well,” Stark is saying, “we still don’t know where he is.”

Clint’s entire face splits into a smile. It’s the best smile he’s ever had. “But we’ll know where he’ll be.” He singsongs.

Everyone in the room turns to him and Clint cracks his knuckles before giving trying his hand at that holographic interface. He brings up a map of D.C. Natasha and he take turns hashing out a medical personnel transfer hijack.

“We were bored!” Is all Clint says when Steve says that this sounds awfully well planned out for an off the cuff operation. “You try finding stuff to do in tiny Czech Republic towns in the middle of nowhere!”

It doesn’t take long before Thor and Natasha are helping him off the bed and Clint takes a minute to appreciate that no part of his body has fallen asleep despite having spent a fair amount of time in what amounts to an infirmary bed. His estimation of Stark goes up a notch.

They beat the transport by a few hours, which isn’t saying much because a chunk of SHIELD’s tri-state area inventory just went belly up in various explosions. It gives them all time to just hang around and shoot the shit. By the end of it, Clint only feels a little awkward using everyone’s first names and slightly more comfortable acknowledging his and Phil’s… _connection_ out in the open. But that second one is just barely.

With Phil’s help, it’s not so much a rescue as a very gentle jail break. Phil looks like shit, which is pretty scary because hours earlier he was maybe a thousand times worse. He also looks pretty damn annoyed to be confined to a stretcher, but his eyes are bright and clear looking and there’s a hint of anticipation in his posture.

“Well, gentlemen,” Phil says as four of them round approach his position, Thor and Stark are waiting in the wings as air support and shiny things to distract the SHIELD agents escorting Phil with. “It’s been fun, but this is where I get off.”

One of them, and Clint recognizes the tags on the uniform, is no basic medical transport officer. “Agent Coulson,” he says, pulling all of his 6’2” bulk up into an authoritative posture, “these people aren’t cleared to know your location, let alone your status.”

“His status?” Clint snaps. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The guy turns and Clint gets a decent look at him, he’s one of those guys that actually has some mass on Clint. It’s the neatly combed dark hair, so perfect Clint is sure he could use the teeth indents the comb made to measure something, that makes the picture complete. Also there’s a mustache. The guy is shaking his head. “I’m sorry but—”

Natasha interrupts him with a casual step forward. “Agent Barton has a durable power of attorney,” she reaches back and pulls Clint forward. Clint has been having trouble tracking once his eyes met Phil’s. Which is why he catches when Phil’s eyes do that twitch thing that happens when someone is technically right, but not quite actually right.

“Coulson is a level 8,” Mustache guy says, like it solves all of his problems.

“So?” Clint says, hands fisting to keep from reaching out. Phil is right there. Phil’s eyes seem locked onto Clint. The feeling is mutual.

“Standard SHIELD contract,” Mustache face says, “power of attorney doesn’t always apply to Level 8s.”

Everyone freezes on that one. Bruce and Steve who’ve been waiting in the wings, just out of sight, even freeze and they weren’t moving all that much before.

“Bullshit,” Clint says. 

“Look it up,” the smug mustached asswipe said. In the meanwhile, he’s completely ignored Phil, which is dumb on the best of days.

Phil pops his straps, he’s not a prisoner, just strapped in for safety and slides off his gurney, there’s a minute where Clint can literally feel Phil’s knees water but Phil keeps himself upright without a slight hitch. “Technically yes,” Phil agrees, stepping away, Mustache Face just stares in shock. Clint thinks it never occurred to him that Phil might just walk away. 

“But I could make a solid argument that this isn’t one of those situations.” Phil makes it to Natasha who has been edging forward this whole time. “Considering I’m both able to speak in complete sentences and move freely.” Phil says as Natasha hugs him, it’s a real hug, but Clint can see it’s also a pretense to keep an arm around Phil’s midsection when they’re done.

Hair guy seems to be thinking it over, for longer than Clint likes really, but Phil gives him that look that ever Agent knows. That one that says ‘if I have to call your supervisor I will be very annoyed’. No one wants a level 8 agent annoyed at you. Bad shit tends to happen.

Then he cocks his head and Clint’s eyes narrow because he knows that look, someone is speaking into Hair Guy’s ear piece. If Clint could lay money on it, it’d be Fury.

“Fine,” the guy eventually says, still looking mildly hacked off. Phil, ever the gentleman, tilts his head like there’s a fashionable hat sitting gently on top it.

The gesture is made all the more impressive when Clint realizes he pulled it off wearing sweats that are a size too large and looking wan and pale like a seasonal flu victim.

Natasha finishes bringing Phil into Clint’s orbit and it’s all he can do to hold back from tucking Phil into his side and attaching him with chains and maybe some duct tape. There’s an unspoken zing between them and then an agreement to leave their reunion for a more private time. Instead Phil is greeted by the rest of the Avengers. Steve gives him a handshake that looks like he means it, Bruce a respectful nod. Thor and Tony come out from around a corner, the armor still putting itself away in Tony’s case and both give him gentle claps on the shoulder.

They’re ushered into a limo waiting around the corner and Clint can feel Phil wilting just a little. He may be better, but he’s not ready for anything strenuous. That’s okay because Clint’s plans mostly involve some really hardcore napping, maybe with a side of food. They separate at the hotel, courtesy of Tony, and promise to meet up for dinner. Clint and Phil don’t make any promises but they smile and promise to try and Clint actually means it. 

Their little field trip has really solidified something for Clint. He doesn’t know them as well as he’d like, but he knows he wants to know them. That’s a big step for Clint.

He’s so lost in thought he doesn’t realize that he and Phil are finally alone until the thud of the door startles him. He turns to find Phil looking sheepish. It looked like Phil had underestimated the force the fire safety codes would have on the self closing door. It’s something that happens to Clint a lot, but not to Phil.

“C’mon,” Clint says quietly, gesturing to the huge bed that looks like it takes up half the room, “we should—”

Phil has made it across the room and when their fingertips touch it’s a an electric charge up Clint’s spine. Judging by the look in Phil’s eyes it’s similar for him. “What did they do to you?” Clint rasps. It’s always been different touching Phil, especially after a long time apart, but never that strong. 

Phil ducks his head away, but doesn’t let go. “I’m not sure. But I have a helluva scar.”

Clint swallows. He knows what was supposed to have happened. He and Natasha spoke about it briefly.

“I think,” Phil stops and brings his free hand up to Clint’s face, strokes it gently, letting the sparks hum through them, “I think I was supposed to die. I remember everyone sounding… well that could have been a hallucination, but later, Dr. Streighten said something. About the original plans. I didn’t get a good look at what they shot me up with and they kept my chart far away from me. I suspect the first time I attempt to access my records I’ll get an access denied blip, but that’ll only confirm my suspicions.”

Clint closes his eyes and leans into the touch. He reaches out and wraps his hand around Phil’s hip, dragging him closer, until their heads can touch. “I think you did die. For a few seconds.”

“I know,” Phil whispers, running his hands up and down Clint’s back. “I know, but you got me back.”

Hot tears spill over Clint’s face. “You were gone,” he says brokenly. “It felt like forever and you were gone.”

“I know,” Phil’s voice wobbles, “I know.”

And like a flash, Clint remembers, Phil had to do it first. Had to go on with a ghost living in his head, unsure if it would ever end. They find themselves in a tight hug, faces buried in shoulders, shaking and trying to find a balance that was lost much longer ago than they’d realized.

It takes them a long time to fall asleep. Actually it takes them a long time to even get fully into bed, one of them would stop abruptly and curl up against the other and it would take a while to settle down again. But even under the blankets, cool, smooth sheets surrounding them, it was hard to do anything but touch, and stroke and sink into that place in their heads that was like a cool breeze and a balm to the soul all at once.

There’s a lot that needs to be taken care of, a lot to talk about and to decide. Changes are coming, Clint can feel it in his bones, or maybe that’s Phil’s certainty leaking into him, but either way, he knows the future is going to be nothing like they imagined.

But as long as Phil is there, next to him, seeped so deep inside Clint’s soul he can’t leave, Clint thinks it’ll all turn out okay in the end.


End file.
